A Thousand Little Dreams
by Marylaand
Summary: This is a prompt table. I am going to put all the prompts together in one story (it's easier for me anyway). Chapters occur in various times of the boys' career as a band, and the date is always specified, in order to allow a better understanding of the stories. Rated T, just to be safe (some swear words and stuff).
1. Disease

**A/N: Yay, I'm back! Sorry for everyone who is currently reading 'Ghostly White' for the lack of updates, but, as you know I went on holiday to my best friend's house, and I came back on Thursday to find out my laptop had died. Just... died. Well, I fortunately had everything recorded on my iPod, so if everything goes well, I'll be able to update 'Ghostly White' in a few days.**

**Now, about this... Well, as it says in the summary, it's a prompt table. Loads of authors are doing it now, so I thought, why not? The one I'm doing has one hundred of them... Haha, I'm not sure of how exactly I'm going to finish it, but anyway. This was the first one, 'Disease', I hope you like it, and please review!**

_**Disease**_

_17th January, 2004_

Danny woke up feeling like he was in a hot tub. Which would not be that bad if it was not his own sweat soaking his hair.

He then started to feel a strong headache and noticed his nose was clogged up and he had a sore throat, like someone had ran a flaming torch down his tonsils.

He stumbled out of his bed, moaning, his muscles sore from what he presumed to be a bad cold, and made his way to the kitchen.

'Aspirin, aspirin, aspirin...' He mumbled as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets searching for the box of pills. A loud crash was heard when he accidentally pushed some spoons in the sink to the floor. Doubling himself to pick it up, Danny heard someone get in the kitchen.

'Danny?' Tom's voice sounded tired and surprised. 'What are you doing here?' Danny placed the three spoons back in the sink and sat down on a kitchen chair, sighing and resting his head between his hands. Sensing Tom walking right next to him, Danny let himself be comforted by Tom's hand running down his sore back, and leaned his head on the blonde's arm.

'I need an aspirin.' Danny mumbled, his voice nasal and hoarse. Immediately, Tom's hand touched his forehead.

'You're burning up, Danny.' Tom stated, finally turning the light on and successfully getting the pill Danny needed and a glass of water.

'Thanks.' Danny swallowed the pill and the fresh water felt good in his swollen tonsils. Tom stepped back with crossed arms and looked at him disapprovingly.

'You know why this is happening, don't you?' Danny rolled his eyes in annoyance.

'My head already feels like it had a time bomb inside of it; if you're just here to tell me _'I told you so'_, you can fuck off right now.' Danny rasped out angrily, his Northern accent more noticeable than ever.

Tom took a deep breath and tried to ignore Danny's words. He knew Danny got incredibly moody when he was not feeling very well, and he did not really want to start a fight at five in the morning with a sick Danny.

'Okay, we talk about this later. Now you are going to bed so you can get better.'

'My bed is all sweaty...' Danny moaned pitifully. Tom rolled his eyes and gave out Danny's hand to help him stand up, slowly leading him to his own room in the attic.

Danny climbed to Tom's bed and curled himself under the blankets, shivering from the cold. He felt the mattress sink a few seconds later with Tom's body weight beside him, and Tom's hand rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. They both stayed like that for about ten minutes, and Tom was almost falling asleep, when Danny's raspy voice brought him back to reality.

'Tom?'

'Yeah, Danny?' He replied in a soft whisper.

'Sorry about that a while ago. I didn't want to yell at you like that. And you were right. Sorry.' Tom smiled for himself and shifted in bed, wriggling closer to Danny.

'It's okay, mate. Just try to remember that next time you want to have a snowball fight with a damn snow storm outside, alright?' Tom felt Danny's head move a little, probably showing agreement.

'This is so unfair.' Danny sighed. 'How come Dougie came with me and he's not _dying_ like I am?' The brunette groaned and Tom chuckled.

'Maybe because Doug has some sense in him and decided it would be the worst idea ever to go out to the snow in a light sweat shirt.' Even in the dark, Tom could tell Danny was rolling his eyes in annoyance. 'Come on Dan, go to sleep. You have at least a bad cold and you need to sleep.'

'Alright _Mum_, let's sleep.' Danny smirked.

'And please, Danny, turn to the other side, I don't want to catch your bitchy germs.'

An annoyed _'whatever'_ was heard by Tom before both boys fell asleep, Danny preparing himself for a sick day off the following day.

**A/N: I've taken a look at the whole prompt table I'm doing, and the most of it has quite tragic themes, like 'Accident', 'Death', 'Funeral'... Anyway, if you have ideas or anything, leave a review or PM me, it's always good to have something else to work with!**


	2. Breakable

**A/N: Hello, everyone! When I was showing the prompt tables to a few friends, my best friend wanted me to write this idea for this prompt, so, here it is. Enjoy!**

**Galaxydefender49: Glad to hear that! Here it is :)**

**LottiePoynterr: Wow. First of all, I would never consider anything written by me 'perfection in a piece of writing', but I'm glad you think that way! Don't worry about the size of the review, for me, the bigger, the better :) I've been reading a few of your stories and I notice that, just like I have a 'thing' for hurting Danny, you have a thing for hurting Dougie. I'll definitely have to PM you in the future, because I'm sure I'll need help with some prompt tables (I'm telling you, it's the weirdest prompt table I've ever seen! Accident, Crash, Flu, Ill, Funeral, Death! but it will be fun anyway), and thanks for reviewing! Hope you like this one :) (Too many smiling faces? sorry)**

_**Breakable**_

_28th August, 2008, 7:34pm_

Harry knew he had been stupid.

Rolling to his left side on the bunk, he felt the throbbing in his right knee, a constant reminder of why his three best friends had spent the whole afternoon lecturing him, and now he felt embarrassed. Because he knew he was wrong, but he had not wanted to see it before.

Most of all, Harry felt angry with himself. One of the things bout Harry was his pride. Pride could be good, in moderate doses. Harry used his pride as motivation, for example, when he wanted to learn how to play drums. His self esteem was incredibly high, and he believed he could dominate everything he touched. Yes, when pride is used as motivation, pride is great and essential for anyone's life.

However, pride can give you the sensation that you can do everything on your own. And that was exactly Harry's problem. He had thought he was indestructible, but ignoring your physical limitations has its cost.

Harry was pretty sure he was paying the price.

Suffering in silence, pride was exactly what was not letting Harry tell Dougie, Danny and Tom he had been wrong. Somehow, Harry knew he would think less of himself if he called one of his band mates and admitted he was in pain or that he needed some help.

But now, lying in his bunk on the tour bus, not being able to sleep, Harry whished he had done things differently.

_20th August, 2008, 6:21pm_

'Are you alright, Harry?' Tom asked, seeing the drummer laying on the couch, his eyes closed and his brows furrowed.

Sound check had been an hour before, and Danny, Tom and Dougie had noticed Harry returning slyly to the dressing room after that. They had also noticed him limping on stage, when he was moving towards his brand new drum kit. Harry opened his blue eyes and closed his lips in a tight line. Tom knew that look too well. His friend was about to tell a lie.

'Sure I am fine. Just tired.' Harry tried to smile, but Tom was not convinced. The blonde glanced at Harry's right leg, that was resting under a pillow, and noticed his knee looked swollen and red.

'Does your knee hurt?' Tom pointed at the articulation, raising one eyebrow.

'Uh, yeah, but I'll be fine tomorrow. I just need some sleep.' Harry said. Tom frowned.

'You sure?'

'Yeah, don't worry Tom.'

_21th August, 2008, 2:05am_

'Danny? Are you awake?'

'I am now.' Danny whispered back at Tom. Harry and Dougie were sleeping in the top bunk beds, so Tom decided it would be easier to talk to Danny, who was right in the other side. They stayed silent for a few moments before Tom spoke.

'Harry's been weird.' He said simply.

'He messed up a bit tonight, especially in Star Girl and Five Colours.' Danny stated. 'Maybe he's just tired.' He suggested.

'That was what he said when I asked him, before the show. His right knee was swollen and red, and he looked like something was hurting him. Besides, he didn't talk much after that and went to bed earlier.' Tom sighed, kicking the blankets around his feet nervously.

'It's probably because of the marathon training.' Danny spoke. 'He doesn't really take time to rest, does he? When he's not rehearsing, he's running. I think it might be too much. But try to tell him that...'

Harry was going to run a marathon to raise money for charities. It was a kind of a tradition thing for him, every year do something for various associations, often linked to cancer patients, or some kind of physical disabilities. Despite McFly being on tour, that hadn't prevented him from training every day, getting up at six in the morning to practice.

'Yeah, I know he won't listen... Fortunately, the marathon is in a week, and after that, he will have time to sleep properly and do better shows.' Tom said.

'I hope so.' Danny yawned. 'God, I have to sleep. Good night, Tom.'

'Sleep well, Danny, good night.'

_25th August, 2008, 3:46pm_

'I don't need to get my knee checked.' Harry complained for about the tenth time since they had got in the hospital, crossing his arms in stubbornness.

'But it looks horrible, Harry! It's all swollen and bruised and you were clearly limping this morning.' Danny hissed, already annoyed at his friend's behaviour. Harry had woken up that morning, incapable of running, and the other boys had found him on the bus lounge, trying to relieve the pain with ice (which was not doing anything for Harry's knee), and they had decided to take him to the hospital to get his injury checked up. Danny had volunteered himself to go with the drummer, while Tom and Dougie had gone to visit a new toy shop in the town.

'But I am fine!' Harry used the same tone of voice Danny had. Danny rolled his eyes.

'Let's let the doctor decide that, alright?'

25th August, 2008, 5:17pm

'Fletch?'

'Yeah, Tom?'

'Do we still have the spare crutches on the cupboard?'

'Sure, I thought it would be a good idea to bring them.'

'Thanks.' Tom quickly left the room, leaving Danny and Dougie to help Harry sitting down on the sofa.

Harry and Danny had just come back from the hospital, and Harry was obviously not happy about what turned out to be his diagnosis. Harry had chronic department syndrome on his right leg, a condition that was common in young runners, often developed by running excessively, and had come back from the doctor's with anti-inflammatories and orders to rest. Upon seeing his friend getting in the tour bus limping heavily, Tom remembered the pair of crutches they usually brought on tour, and that had already been useful in various occasions, as the four boys were quite accident prone.

Danny looked at Harry, who was sat next to him in the bus lounge, and put an arm around his shoulders sympathetically.

'Seems like you can't do the marathon.' The Boltoner smiled sadly. 'I'm sorry.'

'Not your fault.' Harry muttered, looking down and nearly fighting back tears.

But it was so unfair. Harry had been training for that marathon for months, he had been getting up extra early everyday to run for about two hours straight, and now, days before the marathon, he could not run. It was just so frustrating for him. What was also starting to get on his nerves was that he knew exactly what was going to happen in the next few days. Tom, Danny and Dougie would not let him do anything on his own, just because he was injured. There was Harry's pride kicking in.

Harry was glad he had friends like them, that worried about him enough be there for him, even baby him when he was in a fragile position, physically and psychologically. But Harry did not like to ask for help.

_No, he should be strong enough to suck it up and do the marathon anyway, even if he was not at his best._

No.

That would be crazy, wouldn't it?

But of course, for Harry, it made perfect sense.

_28th August, 2008, 8.15am_

Harry looked at both sides of the bus. Danny, Tom and Dougie were still sleeping in their bunk beds, so he walked as slowly and silently as he could, his trainers in his hand. After checking again that his friends were all sleeping, Harry left the tour bus and closed the door behind him.

Outside it was colder, but Harry didn't need to dress his hoodie as he waited for the taxi he had called fifteen minutes before. He chuckled, looking at the tour bus and knowing he would have to deal with the consequences later.

_28th August, 2008, 12.30pm_

It was and hour into the marathon that Harry regretted his decision.

He had been resting for the previous days, and his knee felt a lot better, but after three hours running non-stop in the streets of London, he felt like he had a ringing alarm clock inside his leg.

Limping away from everyone, Harry sat on a bench and thought about what he should do. Tom, Dougie and Danny were probably already freaking out, not knowing where he was, and he couldn't just get a taxi, because he had forgotten his wallet on the bus. His only option was calling one of the guys to go get him, which Harry knew wouldn't be particularly pleasant.

If he called Tom, he would receive two hours of pure emotional torture: in the first hour, he would simply be yelled at in Tom's high pitched voice (he couldn't avoid it when he was furious, which could be ridiculously funny or extremely annoying), and the second hour would be spent by Tom apologising profusely for yelling at him and Harry would be treated like someone as useless as a legless frog.

If he called Dougie, he would probably tell Tom or Danny, and it wouldn't be different than calling one of the other two.

But Harry had no idea of what would happen if he called Danny. Assuming it _couldn't_ be worse than Tom's yelling, Harry turned on his phone and dialled Danny's number, crossing his fingers in the other hand and praying for everything to turn alright.

_'Harry_?'

'Hi Danny. I'm calling because I, uh, kind of _accidentally_ ran the London marathon, and, uh, I forgot my wallet so I can't get a taxi back...' Harry explained nervously. There was a silence in the other line.

_'I'll be there in ten minutes._'

'Right thanks mate.' Harry couldn't quite understand Danny's voice tone. He sounded very quiet, but his voice was shaking too.

He just hoped Tom, Dougie and Fletch wouldn't get too mad.

_28th August, 2008, 12:42pm_

Harry saw Danny get out of the car and immediately got up and walked as fast as he could to it.

'Hey Danny.' Harry greeted, smiling in gratitude. But Danny ignored him.

His friend looked completely pissed off.

Danny helped Harry get in the passenger, without saying a word. He got in too, and started driving, his breathing a bit too fast to Harry's liking.

'Are you okay, Danny?' Harry questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. Danny rolled his eyes before puling over quite violently. 'What was that for?' Harry protested.

'What on _Earth_ were you thinking?!' Danny yelled, his fists clenched. 'You left the _fucking_ bus this morning without a word, left us wondering where the hell you were, and then you _fucking_ call me asking me to go pick you up at the _fucking_ marathon you just ran with a damn knee injury which you were supposed to be resting for!'

'You can stop right there, Danny! I have been resting my arse off the last few days and-'

'The doctor said two weeks! And you just ran for _three_ hours!' Danny's face was red with rage, but Harry was almost as angry as him, unable to look at his friend and just staring out of the window, trying to control himself. Danny shook his head, chuckling humourlessly. 'Who do you honestly think you are, Harry? _Fucking Iron Man_? Your body is not unbreakable, you could have cause serious health problems with this thing! The attitude you had this morning was the most selfish thing I have ever seen! You think you can go around, disrespecting the doctor's orders, like you have some kind of aura around you that makes you indestructible!' Danny was now hyperventilating, which was something that happened when he let his emotions control him. 'Dougie thought you had been kidnapped when he woke up this morning and you weren't there. I had never seen him so scared. Me and Tom, of course, guessed correctly where you were after a while.' His voice had quieted down, like it was when they were talking on the phone. Danny turned on the car and started driving again.

Five minutes from the park where the tour bus was, Harry looked at Danny and sighed.

'I'm sorry.' He murmured, looking down.

What hurt him the most wasn't his right leg, throbbing in agonizing pain. It was the fact _Danny didn't even replied him._

_28th August, 2008, 7:49pm_

'You alright?' Dougie's voice asked from behind the curtain.

'No.' Harry replied moodily. If he was going to talk, he would, at least, be honest.

'Does it hurt a lot?' Dougie opened the red curtain a little and sat on Harry's bunk bed beside him.

'What do you think, Dougie?' Harry's eyes darkened with fury. He knew he shouldn't be acting like that, but he was just too tired to try and be nice to his best friend and just wanted to be alone. Dougie looked down, blushing, and stayed quiet for a few moments.

'You know, Danny's not really mad at you.' Dougie spoke. 'He just...he just worries a lot, even if he doesn't want to show it. You know how he is.' Harry sighed, his expression softening.

'I know Doug. Thanks. I'm jut really tired right now, okay?' Dougie nodded.

'Sure, I'll just let you sleep. Get well soon, okay?'

_28th August, 2008, 8:21pm_

'I brought you ice.'

Harry felt the bunk mattress sink with what he assumed to be Danny's body weight, by the husky voice. The drummer didn't move, but opened his eyes and saw a guilty looking Danny, holding an ice pack in his hand like it was a peace offer.

'Thanks.' Harry replied, trying to sit up, but Danny stopped him.

'Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you the way I did, but you do realise you did a really stupid thing, don't you?' Harry nodded.

'I worked so hard for that marathon. It just didn't seem right _not_ to do it, you know? But it was stupid, indeed, and I'm sorry.' Danny smiled.

'I think you are being punished enough by your body right now.' Harry rolled his eyes at Danny's comment.

'You bet I am. I feel like there's a house on fire inside my leg.'

Danny hissed. 'Well, I hope you feel better mate. And don't do this again, _please_. I was...worried about you this morning.'

Harry nodded and smiled as Danny closed the bunk curtains leaving him alone, knowing everything was okay again.

'And don't tell Tom I said this, but three hours and a half with chroming department syndrome? That's impressive!' Harry chuckled as he heard Danny's voice whispering, and almost laughed out loud when he tried to imagine how Tom would react to Danny's comment.


	3. Perfection

**A/N: First of all, I wanted to say how sorry I am for everyone who is reading 'Ghostly White' for the lack of updates. My Summer has been busier than I thought it would ever be, and my inspiration at night before I fall asleep only contributes to tiny prompts like this one. If everything goes well, my other stories will be updated in a few days. I hope you like this one :)**

_**Perfection**_

_Nobody is perfect._

That is something everyone is more than used to hear, three words attached to our brain like post it notes nailed to a wall. Because, deep down, we all know it's true.

Perfect is an idea, a concept, something abstract. It doesn't really exist. It is also a motivation for the human kind to become better people, to try and be as close to perfection as they can.

Danny's carefree, laid back personality made him ignore the concept of perfection. Most of the time.

Living in a house with three other guys, he did not have much time to himself. During the day, they were often busy with band matters, like working on songs, doing promotion, interviews, TV appearances, or simply writing songs and messing around in a day off.

At night, it was different.

Danny was left alone in his bed, facing the silence, facing himself.

Everyone wanted to be perfect. Including Danny. He knew he was not perfect, obviously. The idea accompanied him every day, like an invisible charm. He did not dwell in the matter that often. But silence allowed him to think about things he did not want to think about, and the invisible charm turned fluorescent in the dark room. Rubbing his eyes, he got up from his bed and shuffled to his en suite bathroom, turning on the lights and closing the bathroom door behind him. Danny was now left with the loud silence and the mirror, a metaphor of himself, right in front of him.

Naturally, mirrors show what _exists_ - not ideas, not words, not concepts, not personality, not hearts - so for a moment, Danny was stuck with his physic self staring back at him, reflected in the mirror.

He had never been particularly insecure about his looks, but (contrarily to what many girls - even his own band mates - though), Danny considered his body far from perfect. His pale skin was the first thing he observed, with freckles covering his cheeks, nose, temples, chin and forehead, shoulders, arms, hands, back, chest, stomach, legs, feet, everywhere basically. For Danny, clear skin was perfect. He had already adventured himself to a tattoo parlour, in order to cover as much of the freckles he hated without looking like the guy who had tattooed his leg and ankle.

His eyes travelled to his upper body, analysing his broad shoulders and his skinny arms, along with his equally skinny frame. It did not matter how much he ate or worked out, his thin body did not seem to change.

He observed his face, walking closer to the mirror. It showed signs of tiredness, deep dark bags under his eyes, the few pimples caused by stress wanting to appear in his skin, his crooked front teeth, his messy hair, which took him at least twenty minutes every morning to style with his straightener. With his face almost glued to the reflective surface, Danny stared right in front of him, meeting his eyes. He had always liked his eyes, which varied between a shade of bright blue to a light grey, depending on his mood, time of the day, exterior light or other factors he could not be bothered to explain.

Danny shook his head and glanced one last time at the bathroom mirror, deciding perfection was definitely not for him. It was time to sleep, and the next day would hopefully bring him noise, music and friends, something to block the little something that told him how imperfect he was, and, who knows, bring him someone who disagreed with the voice in his head.


	4. Fair

**A/N: So, I've been noticing people get injured A LOT in my stories... yeah... sorry about that. This one was somehow inspired by a _LottiePoynterr_'s PM to me, so I would like to thank her for temporarily curing some writer's block, and for being so lovely and helpful :) And it is set some years in the future, when Tom and Giovanna (and the other guys probably) have kids. I hope you like it :)**

**Marvin Fletcher: Yessss, thank you! I love writing sensitive Danny in my stories, because for some reason I like to think he is like that some times in real life. And I am glad you liked it, thanks for reviewing :D**

_**Fair**_

'It's not fair!' James yelled while making his way to the stairs.

'Go to your room right now! I don't wanna hear a word!' Tom bellowed back, angrily.

'I HATE YOU!' James climbed the stairs, hid feet hitting the steps hard.

Tom threw himself to the sofa in frustration, and Giovanna joined him, coming from the kitchen and sitting next to him.

'Just a broken arm.' He sighed. 'But it could have been so much worse.' His voice came out strained, like he was trying hard to keep calm and not to scream or burst into tears. Giovanna stroked his blonde hair softly.

'It's normal, you know?' She said hesitantly. 'He is a twelve year old boy. That's just how they...learn about life.' Tom crossed his arms moodily.

'He can't learn about life if he dies.' He muttered darkly.

'You are not being reasonable, Tom.'

'I don't understand.' Tom said after a silence. 'When I was twelve, I usually stayed at home, playing my guitar or playing videogames. Yes, I skate boarded,_ in my backyard_.' He explained, a worried look etching his face. 'And you were the same. We were both kind of shy teens, weren't we? We did stuff at home most of the times. I don't know who he takes after.'

'Probably Dougie. He loves skateboarding in cement stairs.' Giovanna giggled, and Tom let out a quick smile.

'Yeah, but he's not Dougie's son, is he?' But soon Tom's serious face came back. 'I told him so many times not to go skateboarding there. And he LIED to me. He told me he was going to do a group project to a friend's house. And please, don't defend him in this one.' Tom's voice cracked in the last words. 'What he did was wrong, and you know it.'

'I know, Tom, I know. But I think you should talk to him anyway.' Gi advised in a soft voice.

'Yeah, you're right.' Tom nodded.

'Not now, though. I heard the screams from the garden, just let him cool off before you go upstairs.'

'Right. I just hope he doesn't hate me.' Tom muttered.

'He didn't mean it, you know how he gets when he is angry.' Tom did not seem convinced enough. 'Come on, let's have some tea.'

James took deep breaths as he observed the ceiling from his bed, taking some quick glances at his recently casted arm, which was now in a sling. He quickly turned his head to the door when he heard a soft knock of the door and clenched his left fist.

'Go away!' James said loudly. The door opened anyway, and it was not Tom. It was his twelve year old sister, Annie. James and Annie were very similar physically, both of them inheriting their father's blonde straight hair and brown eyes, and the pale skin, but psychologically, there were many differences. Annie was a bit like Tom and Giovanna, shy and a bit reserved, while James was a bit more outgoing and liked to rebel against his parents. However, and despite their differences, they were very close.

'You alright-oh my God, what did you do to your arm?' Annie asked, pointing to the injured limb. James sighed in annoyance, running a had through his hair.

'I fell while skating in a hand bar near school.'

'Ouch.' Annie grimaced, sitting in the bed next to him. 'Does it hurt?'

'A little, yeah. But not so much anymore.' He shrugged.

'So no bass, skateboarding or drawing for a while, huh?' She made a sad smile. One of James' passions, along with skateboarding and music, was drawing. Like Tom, he could do impressing doodles in a just a small paper. Unfortunately, he had broken his right arm, which would prevent him from drawing for a few weeks.

'I guess so, yeah.' He looked down. 'But I am grounded anyway.' Annie chuckled.

'You bet you are. I had never seen Dad so mad.' James rolled his eyes at his sister.

'I bet it's funny for you.' His voice oozed sarcasm. 'Why did you come here anyway?'

'I was going to ask you if you had those piano sheets from last Sunday, I wanted to practise them.' James got up, and walked towards his desk, opening one fthe drawers from where he took a black file case which he handed to Annie.

'Just keep them. It's not like I can practise it for the next few weeks.' He sighed. Anna smiled at him and made her way to the door.

'Thanks. And cheer up, Jamie, I hate seeing you upset.' And she got out, leaving his brother smiling a bit to himself.

This time, the door opened without any kind of warning. James sat up straighter on his bed, putting his phone aside. Tom got in, still a serious expression on his face. James frowned and looked down as his father sat down next to him.

'Sorry for yelling at you a while ago. I don't hate you Dad.' James started before Tom could even start talking.

'It's okay.' Tom put an arm around James' shoulders. 'But you are still grounded and you know why. I hate when people lie to me. And what you did was pretty reckless.'

'I know, Dad.'

'Two weeks. You go straight back home after school, and no videogames. Now, go downstairs, dinner is almost ready, and there is a really cool movie on TV.' Tom stared at James. 'Is it fair now?' He playfully nudged his son in the ribs.

'Yes _Dad_.' James rolled his eyes, smiling, as he followed his father out of his room and to the living room, to spend a nicer afternoon with his family.


	5. Diary

**A/N: Hi! Make sure to check my other story, 'Ghostly White', please. Enjoy ;)**

_**Diary**_

_26th October, 2005_

I knew it was wrong. That it was selfish, unhealthy, stupid, and, unfortunately for me, pointless.

I stared at the pizza in front of me, instintively hating everything about it. The thin mass of bread underneath a shiny layer of cheese and tomato. Danny, Dougie and Harry had started eating, and I had no choice. I bit one piece, the taste of it being recognized by my mouth, and instantly sending a wave of guilt to my brain.

I managed to eat the whole piece, but I regretted it later. I felt actually nauseous, my stomach just thought a little bit of pizza was too much. The sick feeling on my stomach naggingly suggested me the option of getting rid of it. In the bulimic fashion, of course.

That was a line I was sure I would never cross though. I hate vomiting and I don't think I would handle it very well. Besides, who can have privacy to puke while living with three other guys, three guys who cared about you like a brother?

Starve myself was not exactly easy either. I was pretty self conscious of how worried my friends and family were about me, and of the things they said behind my back. But something inside me always urged me to keep going.

I had recently got used to feeling constantly unhappy.

We were going so well. McFly had become so successful, but at some point, things had changed. My song writing was forced, I was only able to write small, meaningless words in a paper, look at them ten minutes later, and tear the page in two, because anything came out right. The guys and I fought a lot. The friendship was still there, of course, but we had grown up: we had our own problems, and, for some reason, we did not share them, which put us incredibly stressed and moody.

Feeling like this had its two sides.

Sometimes, I just felt bored. Like life was not interesting enough and had no particular purpose, and found myself wondering if it was worth continuing the band.

But sometimes, I felt desperate, my soul wanting to tear my skin and come out, just to stop suffering. Like my own body was a cage and I was trapped.

That would not stop me. I would do what I had been doing everyday for the past few months: pretending I don't need to eat, pretending I don't need to exist.

**Galaxydefender49: I really enjoyed writing that one too! Hope you like this and thanks for reviewing ;)**


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